You have this whole thing down wrong. I simply have to educate you here.
It's like this.
67 red Spit, driving along a deserted beach, girl in the drivers seat, blond
hair
blowing in the breeze, distinguished gentleman by her side, gazing at her
lovingly,
picnic basket on the rack, containing champagne and lobster, summertime,
sunshine,
Jesse Cook's hot rhumba rhythms blasting from the radio.
That is my version
Liv
James Carruthers wrote:
> Michael Hargreave Mawson wrote:
>
> >
> > Well, no. It was meant to be driven in blazing sunshine, with the top
> > down, by a darkly-handsome muscle-man with blow-dried hair, long
> > sideburns and a chunky gold chain-link bracelet. He'd have something
> > cool on the 8-track - probably the Bee-Gees - and a rather dim, but
> > decorative, blonde (five years his junior) in the passenger seat.
> >
> > *That's* how '77 Spits were meant to be driven.
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